


Sick Leave

by tirsynni



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Elric finally outgrows his automail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic from my livejournal that I am (mildly) cleaning up and putting on AO3. Originally beta'd by kageotogi. It was written before the official end of the series, so there are discrepancies.

Colonel Edward Elric hadn’t deafened half the office when Roy had accidentally mentioned his new uniform size.

That had been his first hint something was wrong.

Fuhrer Roy Mustang’s second clue was the cup of coffee spilled all over his floor. The fact that it hadn’t been spilled all over _him_ indicated that it was a true accident, and one didn’t achieve Fullmetal’s reputation by being clumsy.

The third clue, and the most worrying one, had been Fullmetal’s silence concerning his recent changes in uniform. Since his brother’s . . . cure . . . Fullmetal had sprouted several inches. Everyone in the Fuhrer’s office had been waiting for the young blond to prance around the office, idly tossing off height comments and smug grins.

It never happened.

Whenever a quiet, pale Fullmetal would deposit the latest research report on his desk, questions concerning the youth’s health had been on the tip of his tongue. However, Roy kept quiet and told himself that it was just a phase. Teenagers went through them all the time.

A feeble excuse that flew out the window when Fullmetal laid the paperwork for sick leave on his desk.

“I admit, you look a little peaky, Fullmetal,” Roy commented mildly, scanning the papers. “But isn’t three months for a cold a little . . . much?”

Three months. Fullmetal hadn’t even asked for three months after the near-fatal injuries inflicted on him by the homunculi in the final battle.

“Automail surgery,” Fullmetal enunciated, worn features straight. “Complete automail surgery. My mechanic is coming up here tomorrow to begin it.”

With lazy ease, Roy placed the papers on the desk. However, he didn’t sign them yet. “Complete?” he inquired.

Fullmetal glowered at him, a spark returning to his eyes. To Roy’s surprise, Fullmetal’s eyes looked red-rimmed and dull, amber instead of their usual smoldering gold. When had that happened? Why hadn’t he noticed?

Deliberately, Fullmetal tapped his shoulder. “I outgrew the automail,” he said. “I need it completely replaced.”

And thus the reason for the lack of bragging. Roy glanced at the paperwork again, hoping the move hid his eyes. He had read up on it. He knew what it entailed. Ever since Fullmetal had joined the military, he had gone out of his way to protect him and his brother. Automail, on the other hand. . . . Nothing within his power could help Fullmetal with that.

He’d protect him as much as he could, though.

Meeting Fullmetal’s eyes, Roy placed the unsigned paperwork off to the side on his desk. “Since she’s not coming until tomorrow,” he commented, “there’s no rush.” He glanced at the top paper. “As it says ‘effective immediately,’ it’ll be official as soon as I sign it. I’ll work on some of my other papers, and then I’ll get back to it.”

Fullmetal bristled. “It was right in front of you! Why couldn’t you sign it then?”

Roy couldn’t resist a smirk. “You’ve been in the military for a long time. Surely you know how the bureaucracy works.” Fullmetal glared, and Roy felt something within him loosen. Automail surgery was bad, but Fullmetal would survive it. It was just three months. Just three months. “Until then,” he continued, “why don’t you wait on the couch?” Roy gestured at his beloved couch, brought with him from his previous office. “I’ll tell you when I get to it.”

Fullmetal glowered, but Roy’s smirk never changed. Déjà vu flashed through Roy’s mind, and apparently Fullmetal’s, too, as he huffed and stalked to the couch. Roy’s hands clenched as he noted Fullmetal’s slight limp. The limp had been there all along, right beside the weary eyes and pallor. Roy had been just too stubborn to notice it.

Roy took care not to look at Fullmetal as he sat stiffly on the couch. They both knew the inevitability of it, as Roy read and signed other papers and Fullmetal braced himself. Even as Roy tried not to chuckle, Fullmetal sat straight-backed, lips tight and hands folded tightly in his lap. While Roy signed paper after paper, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Fullmetal slumped, sat straight up, and slumped again. One hour passed. One became two, two shifted into three. By the end of the workday, Fullmetal had abandoned all pretenses and curled up on the couch, Roy’s favorite coat wrapped defiantly around him.

Getting Fullmetal to go to sleep was just another benefit of this little act.

Finally, at the end of the day, Roy signed the paper and rose. His body cracked audibly when he stretched, and he recalled dreamily the days of sneaking out of the office, sometimes via window, to flirt with whatever cute thing he happened to come across. With his current schedule, the only cute thing he’s come across has been. . . .

Well. Fullmetal.

After a moment, Roy decided it wasn’t best to push Fullmetal’s current limit by pointing that out.

He kneeled beside the sleeping blond and slipped off a glove. Roy brushed Fullmetal’s long bangs to one side, frowning to himself at the heat radiating against his fingers. How long had he kept his eyes shut to this?

“Fullmetal, sleeping on my couch again?” he inquired. The blond didn’t budge. He tried again. “You know, you’re the only one whose legs don’t hang off the couch.” Still nothing. Wow. Fullmetal had been tired. Roy slid his hand down from Fullmetal’s forehead to his left shoulder, gently shaking it. _That_ got a reaction.

Fullmetal bolted up on the couch, a scream caught behind his teeth. Wild, too-bright eyes stared at him. Then, as if he finally realized where he was, Fullmetal’s eyes sharpened into a dark glare. “Bastard,” he snarled.

Roy frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. His hand felt burned where he had grabbed the blond. Roy studied Fullmetal’s white, white face and struggled to ignore the nausea rising in his gut. “Should I get a doctor?”

Fullmetal glared at him. “I don’t need a doctor!” he snarled. “I’m fine!” He hauled himself to his feet, and Roy clenched his jaw when he noted Fullmetal’s stumble. Fullmetal’s good hand tentatively touched his shoulder before jerking back. “Now that the paperwork’s signed, I’m going back to the dorm.”

“The dorm?” Roy echoed. His mind flashed back to his last visit to the dorms. His frown deepened. “Were you planning on having the surgery in the dorms?”

Fullmetal scowled, stalking towards the door. “Yeah,” he sniped. “What’s your point?”

Things weren’t adding up in this particular scenario. They weren’t adding up at all. “Don’t you usually go to Resembool for this surgery?” Roy inquired, rising and walking to Fullmetal’s side. After all this time, Fullmetal finally stood up to his chin without the help of his signature antenna. The young colonel was reaching a stature that matched everything else about him.

Fullmetal didn’t meet his eyes, and Roy noted to himself that it had to reach this point before Fullmetal had requested sick leave. Maybe it had gotten too far for Fullmetal to ride a train for three days, too.

No. That didn’t sound right, either.

“Alphonse is staying in the dorm with me,” Fullmetal informed him, his voice sour. “If I have any problems, he’ll know what to do.”

_So keep your nose out of it._

Fullmetal was one of the few people that Roy knew whose nonverbal and verbal speech were both violent.

“And where is Ms. Rockbell staying?” he inquired. “Surely she isn’t staying in the dorms as well.”

Fullmetal’s back was stiff. Roy hated to imagine how his shoulders felt at that moment. “Mrs. Hughes is allowing her to stay at her place,” the blond growled. “She…she’s going to help with Elysia.”

“Of course.” Roy hesitated, the same emotion that kept him from inquiring about Fullmetal’s health quieting him now. In the timeframe he was thinking of some advice to give or whether he should even give some advice, Fullmetal stalked out the door, his left foot dragging a little behind him. Roy watched him go. “I was going to go with you, you know,” Roy said aloud. Mocking silence answered.

Fullmetal’s absence was noted immediately in the office. Despite his recent quietness, the blond’s temper and vicious intelligence and wit kept things lively in the Fuhrer’s office, just like it had in Roy’s former offices. Roy pointedly ignored the curious/concerned looks and whispered gossip, getting more work done than if the now Colonel Hawkeye was standing in behind him. He knew exactly what was happening, where it was happening, and he knew Fullmetal could easily deal with it. After all, Fullmetal had gone through it before. What could take someone out for an easy six months could easily be dealt with by Fullmetal in three months. There was no reason to worry.

None at all.

If Lieutenant Colonel Havoc had to continuously return paperwork to him because he did it wrong, well, it was boring paperwork, anyway.

Alphonse Elric visited the office in the second week of Ed’s sick leave. He strolled through the office like it was the home of a good friend, charming various workers with a bright smile and breezing into Roy’s office without a hint of trouble. Roy would’ve wondered about security if he himself hadn’t folded instantly at the sight of Alphonse’s smile. Alphonse smiled like he walked on sunshine and wondered why everyone else wasn’t walking beside him. He smiled the smile of someone who hadn’t been able to smile for years and was making up for lost time. Roy decided he better end that train of thought before he spent his next paycheck _helping_ Al make up for that time.

“Good afternoon, Fuhrer!” he greeted him cheerfully. “You look better than when I last saw you.”

Roy grinned, refraining from mentioning that Alphonse had still been getting used to seeing from actual _eyes_ when he had last seen the youth. “How are you, Alphonse?” he asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in Central since your . . . recovery.”

Al grinned and walked in front of Roy’s desk. Everyone else but the Elric brothers was intimidated by the magnificent furnishings. Fullmetal considered everything _his_ and thus he had the right to set his feet anywhere he so desired. Alphonse, the more sedate brother, didn’t go that far, but he still didn’t show any problems relaxing in front of Roy.

“I’ve been getting things settled in Resembool,” Al admitted, hazel eyes sparkling. “Before Brother returned to work, he fixed up Granny’s place so I could have some extra room.” His smile softened, growing a little shy. “He even set up a place for my kittens, so I’ve been helping the little guys out.”

Roy smiled. Of course. For all Fullmetal’s vehement rantings and fanged snarls, he was the biggest softy in the world where his brother was concerned. It was . . . cute.

Alphonse shook his head a little. “But that wasn’t the reason I came,” he continued. Alphonse’s brilliant smile faded, and Roy wondered why he felt the need to kiss Al’s ass. Maybe it was the knowledge that if Fullmetal knew that he upset his baby brother, automail surgery or no, he would drag his butt over here simply to thrash Roy.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t visited Brother yet.” The chill in Roy’s chest, oddly enough, increased at the statement. “When he was in the hospital last time, you never left his side.”

_That was different. Circumstances were entirely different._

But if he said that to Alphonse, the youth would happily remind him why Fullmetal wasn’t the only intimidating Elric.

“I’ve been busy,” Roy replied mildly. “I wasn’t Fuhrer then.”

Alphonse’s eyes hardened, even if his expression remained calm. “You couldn’t find any time in two weeks?”

Only Alphonse could ask a question like that and make it accusing without a single aggressive note in his voice.

“I’ve been busy,” Roy offered lamely. Truly a Fuhrer-worthy response.

Alphonse raised an eyebrow. “I spoke with Lieutenant Colonel Havoc before coming in here,” he replied easily. “He said he could clear up your schedule this evening so you can visit Brother. The others would like an update on his condition, and they decided you were the best choice.”

…wasn’t that generous of them.

Roy hid a flinch. Alphonse seemed to sense it anyway, as his brilliant smile returned. “I’ll see you this evening in the dorms!” he chirped. “I’m sure Brother would love some company!”

Not giving Roy a time to respond, Alphonse turned around and walked out.

Roy didn’t even wait till the door was closed before burying his face in his hands. He didn’t want to see Fullmetal. But it didn’t seem like he had a choice in the matter.

Mental note: never, ever underestimate Alphonse Elric.

Thus, several hours later and with Havoc’s smug grin in his mind, Roy visited the dorms. Even out of uniform, numerous people recognized the new Fuhrer, as displayed by the whispering as Roy walked by. He ignored it to the best of his ability and kept walking. He hoped Fullmetal knew what he did for him.

Actually, he doubted Fullmetal would care. If anything, he was expecting the colonel to snarl at him for _daring_ to visit while he was vulnerable. Then, of course, Fullmetal would have to prove he _wasn’t_ vulnerable by doing something stupid that could potentially hurt him worse.

Considering the alternative was disappointing Alphonse, Roy was, to put it succinctly, fucked.

New and old military alike stopped and saluted as he walked to Fullmetal’s dorm, making him wonder if he should have just stayed in uniform. Looking around at the drab interior of the dorms, with the almost painful looking furniture and the sleepy looking walls, Roy also wondered why the hell Fullmetal had yet to buy his own place. With his rank and paycheck, Fullmetal could probably find a good home. Surely, it had to be better than this dank place.

Second mental note: schedule renovations for the dorms.

Third mental note: nix last mental note. Dorms like this _had_ to build character.

Perhaps it was Roy’s imagination, but it seemed like the hall to Fullmetal’s dorm was the most shadowed, haunted looking hall in this entire dormitory.

Later, Roy would neglect to remember exactly how long he stood in front of Fullmetal’s dorm. His mind treacherously reminded him of the last time he had stood in front of a place like this, hand inches from Fullmetal’s door. Last time he hadn’t knocked. Last time he had just entered.

He had learned his lesson.

(Un)Fortunately, Alphonse was generous enough to break Roy’s standstill with the door. “Fuhrer, sir!” he greeted cheerfully. “We were just wondering when you were going to arrive!” Smiling, he swung the door wider open, revealing the bland interior of the room. Already, Roy could see the books piled everywhere. “Winry’s with Brother, checking on his ports. She’s checking to see if he’s ready yet for the next stage.” Alphonse’s lips drooped. “Um . . . please don’t excite Brother. He’s . . . not in the best health at the moment.”

_He wasn’t then, either._

Roy hoped his thoughts didn’t show on his face. “I don’t want to interrupt anything,” he said quickly. “I can just—”

Alphonse gently touched his arm, silencing him. “You’d probably help distract him. He could definitely use some distraction.” Before Roy quite comprehended the situation, Alphonse was ushering him into the room and shutting the door behind him. Chattering about Edward’s latest research about chimerical transmutation, Alphonse politely dragged Roy into the dorm’s tiny bedroom.

Stepping in, Roy’s first thought was, _How did Alphonse fit in here when he was a suit of armor?_

His second thought was, _I didn’t want to see this._

Panting weakly, Edward Elric lay on the small bed, bright eyes shut and expressive face flushed and sweaty. Beside him, Winry Rockbell was wiping Fullmetal’s . . . Edward’s face with a wet rag. Her eyes were shiny, but Winry’s face was stony as she whispered to the other blond. Roy clenched his fists.

_It wasn’t Ms. Rockbell last time. It was—_

“Winry?” Alphonse called, distracting him. She looked up and smiled faintly.

“So you finally dragged him out here.” Winry turned back to Ed. “About time.”

Alphonse flushed a little. “He’s stubborn. They both are.” He cleared his throat. “He’s finally here, though.”

Winry nodded. She squeezed out the rag, dipped it back in the cool water, and replaced it on Edward’s forehead. Edward moaned a little, and Roy felt Alphonse flinch beside him. It was all right. He wanted to cringe away, too.

Winry leaned over as Roy was contemplating the situation and kissed Edward’s temple. She whispered one last thing in Edward’s ear before walking towards the door. To Roy’s surprise, she grabbed Alphonse’s arm. “We’ll see you later, Fuhrer,” she chirped. “Take care of my patient while Al treats me to dinner.” Her eyes glittered dangerously for a moment, making Roy recall every Winry-related curse Edward had uttered in his office. Then Winry dragged Al off.

 _Is that a Resembool thing?_ Roy wondered. His dark eyes widened. _They left me alone. With Fullmetal._

And he, the great manipulator, had actually fallen for it. Dammit. He felt like a naïve recruit.

Roy swallowed but nonetheless turned to the feverish figure on the bed. Edward didn’t seem to notice his presence or Winry’s lack there-of. Edward groaned and tried to turn on his side, drawing Roy’s attention to the ports. They didn’t look complete. As he stepped closer to the bed on the far side of the room (how had Alphonse fit on the other bed? _Edward_ barely fit!), Roy wondered how much further the surgery went. Edward’s left leg was only a stump. There was nothing left of Edward’s right arm at all.

_It never stops. It never stops for you._

_But why . . . are you still here? Why are you still in the military? You had options. I know two choices in particular where you could have flourished. Why did you choose the most painful option?_

Underneath the dripping rag, Edward’s face was drawn and sickly. Swallowing thickly, Roy took the seat Winry had vacated. “F—Edward?” he asked quietly. “Are you awake?”

Edward groaned but didn’t open his eyes. Roy picked up the rag and began to gently dab his face.

_He asked for three months. He’s only been on sick leave for several weeks. How much more—_

Edward’s dull eyes fluttering open caught Roy’s attention. He replaced the rag on Edward’s head. “Are you awake?” he repeated.

Edward groaned and turned his head away. The rag started to slide off before Roy caught it. “W-what are you doin’ here, y’ bastard?” he grumbled, closing his eyes again.

Roy started dabbing at Edward’s glowing red cheeks. “Your brother decided you wanted my company,” he replied drolly. “I didn’t have much choice.”

Mumbling something beneath his breath, Edward cracked an eye open. “Ge’ out,” he growled. “I . . . I don’ wan’ company.” He closed his eye again and determinedly faced away.

The words were out before Roy could stop them. “You didn’t mind company _then_.”

He regretted it instantly as Edward slit his eyes open. “Wha’ you talkin’ ‘bout, y’ bastard?” Edward murmured. “Then?”

Roy shook his head. “Never mind. You need to rest.”

Even as sickly as he looked right then, Edward’s glare was impressive. Unfortunately for Roy, it also seemed to liven the younger alchemist up a bit. “Is this the reason you’ve been treatin’ me like shit lately?”

“I haven’t—” Roy started, but Ed’s scoff shut him up.

“You haven’ talked wi’ me at all!” Edward accused. “I . . . I thought . . . after all that shit . . . that we were friends! Bu’ you din’—” Edward coughed weakly and closed his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Roy stared at his lap. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “You’re ill.”

Edward opened his eyes just enough to glare balefully at Roy. “I’m outgrowing my automail.” His voice, though still raspy, was stronger. Roy wondered how much of it was will and how much was pure fury. After a moment, he decided it was for the best that Edward was bound to the bed. “I’m not dying.”

Roy’s eyes trailed to the half-finished ports. Pale, shiny scar tissue and stark crimson flesh surrounded the ports. He tightened his jaw, ignoring the flash of pain it sent through his skull. His mind graced him with the image of Edward’s body pushing against the ports, growing and pushing and expanding past what the unrelenting metal allowed. He mentally cringed.

“I never said you were,” he replied evenly. “But you need your rest.”

Edward’s good hand snatched his collar before he could move an inch. Fever-bright eyes blazed at him. “Explain,” he rasped. “Now.”

Edward’s arm trembled with the effort of holding him. Roy knew that all he had to do was pull back to break that tentative grip. He also knew that if he did that, Edward would truly never speak to him again.

“I didn’t feel the need to interrupt your time with Prince Ling,” Roy retorted coolly. “From what I heard, you were getting an impressive offer to be the consort of the future emperor of Xing. I didn’t want to distract you from such important decision-making.”

Edward gaped at him. To Roy’s utter shock, Edward began to laugh. He actually began to laugh. Within the first minute, he started wheezing and coughing, but the fact that he laughed in the first place was mind boggling. Roy drew himself up, insulted. “Is something the matter?”

Edward’s good hand released Roy’s collar to gently finger the swollen skin around his right shoulder, but his shimmering eyes were still dark with mirth. “Y-you thought,” he choked, “that Ling and I—” Edward began to cough, and this time, Roy slipped a hand around his back helping him to sit up. Edward’s bare back was hot and rough against his skin, making him wonder how many scars were back there. “Ling offered, but I refused. I wanted to stay in the military.” Edward smiled wanly at him. “I wanted to stop any further experiments like Tucker’s and learn how to help the victims.”

And just like that, the pieces fell together. Roy fell back in the chair. “And here I thought I might be a factor,” he admitted.

Edward stretched a little on the small bed, looking wan and drained. “Egotistical bastard.” He sighed wearily, reminding Roy about the cloth. It was warm in his hand, and he dipped it back into the water. That, at least, was still cool.

“It had nothing to do with it?” Roy persisted, stroking Ed’s hot face with the cloth.

Edward grunted but didn’t reply. Roy took that as _something_ but didn’t ask further.

_Over two more months of sick leave. I can learn something by then._

Something tightened within Roy as Edward leaned into the cloth. “So Ling didn’t tempt you at all?” he inquired, reaching out with his other hand to touch Edward’s hot cheek. “The consort of an emperor. . . . Everything you wanted would be handed to you on a silver platter.”

A contemptuous glare answered him. “If you believe that, you’re even more of an idiot than I. . . .” Edward’s last words were lost in a weak snore, and Roy smiled a little.

_Two more months. I can handle that._

When Winry and Alphonse returned, Roy’s right hand was holding the damp rag on Edward’s head. His left was holding Edward’s hand.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“You’re going to have to leave. I need to work on the ports.”_

_“I want to stay.”_

_“You h-heard her, Bastard. Get out.”_

Head bowed, Roy Mustang again soaked the worn rag in the bowl of water. The shivering figure in the bed didn’t flinch when Roy placed the rag back on his forehead.

_“I don’t understand. The ports aren’t even done, and he’s supposed to be back on duty in three weeks.”_

_“Three weeks? That idiot! Recovery time from automail surgery generally takes three years. Guess since he knocked it down to one year last time, he thinks he can knock it down again.”_

_“ . . . A year?”_

Edward Elric only moaned a little when Roy wiped his cheeks. Roy closed his eyes.

_“Hello, Alphonse. This is an . . . unexpected visit.”_

_“ . . . Winry’s going to be securing the automail port to Brother’s ribs. You . . . might not want to visit today.”_

_“I’ll be there at the normal time.”_

Feverish amber eyes flicked toward Roy for a moment, but Roy’s eyes remained closed. Edward huffed weakly and looked away. Only the rough rasps of Ed’s breathing broke the silence.

Two pairs of eyes watched the silent figures for a breath longer before Winry Rockbell quietly clicked the door shut. Alphonse Elric looked worriedly at her. She met his eyes, shook her head once, and gestured toward the kitchen. Obediently, Alphonse followed her.

“No wonder they attract each other so much,” Winry hissed as soon as Alphonse entered the small dorm kitchen. “They’re both stubborn idiots!”

Alphonse sighed and walked to the mini fridge-microwave combo, and Winry slumped into a chair. He pulled two drying glasses off the towel by the sink. As Winry stared at the tottering table, Alphonse poured them each some tea. The automail specialist didn’t look up until Alphonse handed her a glass and sat across the table from her with his own.

“They’re both stubborn idiots,” he agreed wearily, staring at his tea. He had bought the pitcher at the deli down the street earlier in the week. While the Fuhrer had silently sat beside him, Edward had asked for something icy to drink. Alphonse had hoped his brother had been asking for some alone time with the Fuhrer, but when he had returned, the air in the bedroom was as still and stale as before, the Fuhrer silent and solemn, his brother flushed and frustrated. Alphonse used to be able to read his brother so easily, but he had no idea what his brother was thinking anymore. Sometimes Alphonse wondered if he would willingly return to the armor if only to recapture their earlier closeness.

Shifting her glass from hand to hand, Winry frowned. “I’m not going to have their little feud interrupt Edward’s surgery!” Alphonse flinched inwardly as her eyes darkened. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t like Ed staying in the military but I thought he wanted to so he could finally get together with Fuhrer Mustang.” Stilling her hands, Winry stared at Al. “But they’re still tiptoeing around each other! I don’t get it.”

Alphonse shrugged helplessly. He itched to grab one of her trembling hands; he sipped his tea instead. “Those two are very good at complicating things.” Winry caught his gaze and he took a longer drink. “I think . . . I think something happened at the end of the war, but Brother won’t talk about it.” His own bitter laugh surprised him. “He . . . he doesn’t talk about much anymore.”

But why should he? What was the point of talking when Alphonse couldn’t _do_ anything? He had tried to do something, had wanted to do something, but whereas his brother had succeeded, Alphonse had only failed.

Alphonse started when Winry’s warm, calloused hand clasped his own. She smiled tiredly at him; he smiled tentatively back.

A thought occurred to Alphonse and he dropped his gaze. He could feel Winry’s frown. “When’s the next major surgery?” he asked quietly.

A pause. “Tomorrow.”

Meters away, Roy flinched minutely, looking away from the fevered, sweaty skin of Ed’s chest. The bandages over Ed’s ribs taunted him, wounds caused not by the Incident but by the automail. Something brushed against his hand, and, without looking, Roy clasped Edward’s hand and held it tightly. Edward squeezed back, never looking away from Roy’s bowed head.

xoxoxox

The next morning, Lieutenant Colonel Havoc had Roy’s coffee ready when the Fuhrer trudged into the office. With a collection of thankful mumbles, Roy took it and slumped into his chair. Havoc studied his superior’s drawn face for a long moment. When Roy did nothing else to acknowledge his existence, Havoc wheeled in front of Roy’s desk.

“You have a meeting with Parliament next week,” Havoc tossed out, sharp eyes on Roy’s face. His gum garbled his speech a little, but Roy had learned how to interpret his words.

“Yes,” Roy replied drolly, “they wish to discuss _again_ the homunculi, particularly Wrath.” He sipped his coffee again, only the most minute cringe quirking his lips. “You’re getting better.”

Havoc shrugged. “Eh. It’s just until Chief gets back.” His fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the wheelchair as he spoke. Soon, Roy suspected, there would be fingerprints indented in the dark wood. “How much longer is his sick leave extended?”

The bitter coffee mocked Roy. He swiped his tongue against his gums as he put the coffee down. “Six months. However, it may be prolonged further judging by Ms. Rockbell’s information.” He turned to the paperwork in his desk with a frown. Right on the top was a request for further investigation into the activities of specific generals.

Snapping his gum, Havoc hummed. The blond’s features were still slack, but his eyes were sharp on Roy’s face. Roy’s fingers tightened on his pen.

“So. How long until Ed comes back?” Havoc inquired.

Havoc wasn’t talking about automail surgery. “So. When are you going to get your own post?”

Scowling, Havoc scraped his fingers against the arm of the wheelchair. “I still don’t see why I can’t smoke at this post. I could smoke before you were Fuhrer.”

“And next time you see Colonel Hawkeye, you can explain your reasoning to her,” Roy replied. Havoc’s eyes narrowed, and Roy glanced at his too-dark coffee. Actually, the cigarette smoke would be a nostalgic distraction, but Roy knew being in a superior position didn’t necessarily equate to being in charge.

Pretending to skim over the top paper, Roy noted that Havoc hadn’t moved away from the desk. “Was there anything else?” he inquired mildly.

After a moment, Havoc leaned back. “No.”

Both men relaxed when Major Farman walked in with another stack of paperwork. Afterward, Havoc excused himself and Roy dumped out his coffee.

xoxoxox

When Roy had originally learned that Edward planned on having his surgery in the dorms, he had doubted more than the dorms’ sanitary conditions: he feared the other soldiers would hear Ed’s pained moans and cries. All three Resembool youths had assured Roy to the contrary, but Roy had still been doubtful until he found himself sitting beside a trembling Alphonse, listening to Winry’s whirring tools. From Ed at most they heard ragged grunts.

Sitting with one arm wrapped around Al’s tense shoulders and listening to the occasional pained gasp from Edward, Roy almost wished Ed would scream.

“When Brother originally had his surgery, he was completely quiet,” Al whispered, his long legs curled against his body. Sitting on the hallway floor, the younger Elric’s face looked oddly composed. “I peeked in sometimes, but either the blood or Winry would scare me off.”

Roy nodded blankly, feeling Al’s faint tremors under his arm. What could he say to that?

“He’s needed automail repair several times, but this is the first time since the initial installation that he’s needed surgery on the ports,” Al continued, his voice a little too even. “We believe . . . we believe it’s because of the Incident.”

“The Incident?” Roy knew what Al meant—only one thing would have earned the capital letter he heard so clearly in the young man’s voice—but he didn’t know what that would have to do with Ed’s lack of growth. A throaty groan scratched past the bedroom door, and Roy asked, “What happened?”

Al sucked in a quick, shallow breath. Winry’s tools whistled shrilly for a few moments. “Did you notice that when my brother…my brother restored my body to me, my body was intact and relatively healthy?” At Roy’s quick nod, Al continued, raising his voice a little, “We think that my body’s health was due to my brother’s sacrifice. We think he fueled my body.”

Roy stared at the grey-green wall. “That’s why he never gained any height,” he murmured. He frowned. “Or weight.”

Al nodded, flinching a little when his brother moaned. The sound was barely audible over Winry’s tools. Roy could imagine Ed gritting his teeth, cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down his face. Then he imagined how much pain the younger man had to be in to actually _make_ that noise. Roy convulsively tightened his grip on Al’s shoulders. Al didn’t say a word.

Attempting to banish that all too vivid image from his mind, Roy inquired, “Why is your brother still in the dorms? With his rank of colonel, he could easily live in an actual apartment. This is one of the better dorms, but it must be stifling, even for. . . .” Roy quieted himself before the automatic height snipe slid off his tongue.

Alphonse’s sigh shook Roy’s arm. “Because an apartment would be too much like a home,” he replied.

For the life of him, Roy couldn’t think of a response for that.

xoxoxox

When Roy usually visited Edward, the young man would be sleeping, exhausted by pain and stress. He would watch the blond sleep and wipe the sweat away from his too pale, too red face and reflect on how vulnerable he looked there as the metal again grew from his body.

All such reflections vanished the first time he was there when Edward was awake and had to use the bathroom.

“This would be easier if you’d just go in the bottle, Brother,” Alphonse’s exasperated voice traveled through the dorm room. Just walking through the door, Roy froze, hand still on the front of his jacket.

“I haven’t gone in a damned bottle yet, and I’m not going to go now,” Edward snarled. “I’ll crawl to the fuckin’ bathroom if I have to!”

Inhaling deeply, Roy continued unbuttoning his jacket. Only after he had safely placed his jacket on the back of a chair did he walk toward the small bedroom.

“Brother, the ports are still new, and your nerves are extremely sensitive. You need rest!”

“You’ve helped me before! What’s the difference now?”

The door was open, complementing the unlocked dorm door, and, looking inside, the Fuhrer nodded to himself. Dressed only in boxers and his remaining limbs flailing, Ed was sitting up on the bed. Al sat beside him, hands raised. Roy’s hands clenched as he noted that Winry had finished the surgery on both ports, including the metal securing the arm port. Edward’s pallid, sweaty face reflected the strain of that surgery and Roy agreed with Alphonse: Edward shouldn’t move from the bed.

“I’ll lend an arm,” Roy offered smoothly, stepping into the room.

Alphonse started and almost fell off the bed. “Sir!” he yelped.

Ed straightened on the bed, as dignified as a shaved cat. His cheeks glowed red; Roy wondered how much of the color was due to his fever. “Then get over here!” Edward snapped. “I have to piss!”

Even as Roy stifled a smirk and walked to the bed, Alphonse stared reprovingly at his brother. “Language, Brother, and you should rest!” But there was more resignation than true scolding in his voice and, when Roy extended his arm to Edward, Alphonse sighed loudly. “Fine! But I’m telling Winry!”

Roy chuckled lowly, amused by Alphonse’s petulance. He usually only heard that tone from Edward. Standing on Edward’s left side, Roy surreptitiously pulled Ed’s left arm a little when the young man couldn’t get off the bed. The blond refused to look at him, simply grasping Roy’s arm with his remaining hand. Alphonse glared at the floor when Ed stumbled.

“You can stand outside the bathroom,” Edward murmured, his remaining foot thudding oddly on the ground. The young man was surprisingly graceful with one foot.

“Of course.” Ed felt moist and hot and solid against Roy’s side.

Ed’s head lolled onto Roy’s shoulder as Roy helped him into the hallway. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you,” the young man continued conversationally. “They’ll never find your body.”

Roy hid a smirk in Edward’s hair. “Would never dream of it.”

Edward didn’t stumble again, but the trip to the bathroom was slow nonetheless, the blond leaning against Roy in place of his left leg. Roy could actually feel Ed’s stump moving against his leg, the metal of the port scraping Roy’s pant leg. He tried not to flinch away.

Pushing away from Roy, Ed fell against the bathroom door. “I don’t need help to piss,” Ed growled.

Roy held up his hands and Ed dragged himself into the bathroom. As the brunet leaned against the garish wall, he listened to Ed hobble to the toilet. Each step of Edward’s right foot was loud, defined. Roy closed his eyes and shifted as heard a loud tinkling. When he finished, Ed cursed and a second later flushed the toilet. Another second later, Roy heard the young soldier slam into the bathroom door again.

“Wash your hand!” Roy called involuntarily, smirking to himself before he realized exactly what he had said. Roy recoiled.

“Fuck you!” Ed snapped, but a moment later, Roy heard the water running in the bathroom. More cursing and thumping followed before Ed finished. Several more seconds passed and then Ed almost knocked Roy out with the door.

“Bed,” Edward announced, and Roy stared at Ed’s feverish, thin face for a moment before offering his arm once more. Even as Edward took it, he glared fiercely at Roy.

“Don’t hold back with me,” Ed hissed.

Roy hesitated. Edward scowled at the wall.

The rest of the return trip was silent.

xoxoxox

The too-pale coffee sloshed in Roy’s mug as he squinted at the paper on his desk. This was his first late night in a surprising while. He knew he should be grateful, would easily be grateful, in fact, if the meeting topic had been different. Of course everyone knew that bombing a country during its emperor’s coronation was an excellent way to prove one’s strength. The generals were even so kind as to give precise dates and times.

Emperor. Emperor Ling. Roy sipped his coffee before glaring at the paperwork again. One of the youngest, most influential emperors in Xing’s history. Famous for his part in defeating the homunculi.

Roy’s coffee sloshed again.

“Fuhrer? Roy?”

Roy started, looking up to meet Havoc’s concerned eyes through the partially opened door. Opening the door the rest of the way, the blond wheeled into the room. “Hi,” Roy greeted, squinting at the paper again. Wait? What was that about miniskirts?

Ugh.

Havoc’s hand on his wrist stopped Roy from sipping his coffee again. “It’s time to leave, I think,” he commented.

Roy smiled at him, even as he grew more aware of the ache behind his eyes. One would never know it by looking at him, but Havoc was in his own way the most protective of the group, even if he couldn’t match Hawkeye’s draw. Speaking of which... “You’re much nicer than Colonel Hawkeye,” he quipped.

Grinning back, Havoc revealed the gum wrapped around one tooth. It had lost all semblances of color. “No, I’m not,” Havoc corrected. “You never called the chief, did you?”

Roy’s coffee slammed to the desk. “No,” he managed, eyes wide. It was the first time he had been late in how long? Months?

With that same smirk, Havoc gestured towards the door. “Then I suggest you drop in.”

Visions of Edward’s angry, sick face flashed through Roy’s mind. Worse, visions of Edward’s hurt eyes haunted him. Cursing under his breath—several words, he realized despairingly, that he had specifically learned from Edward—Roy shoved himself away from the desk. “I’ll finish this in the morning.”

Havoc’s smile turned wry. “And I’ll have the coffee ready.”

The too dark, too pale, too bitter, too sweet coffee. Their eyes met, and, with one last resigned smile, Roy left.

Doubts didn’t assail Roy until he was walking toward Edward’s door. He hadn’t called beforehand; would they mind him visiting so late? Was Edward upset that he hadn’t visited earlier? What if—

The door was unlocked, per usual. He had barely twisted the knob before he heard the retching on the other side.

“Edward!” Roy shouted, shoving the door open.

Alphonse’s pale face peered out of the bathroom. “Fuhrer?” he yelped. “I—we—”

Edward coughed weakly from the bathroom. “Get o-out, ass—” Violent vomiting cut Edward off.

Alphonse looked back and forth between Roy and the bathroom. Licking his lips, the blond smiled shakily at him. “Now might—”

“Get out!” Edward shrilled, his words ending with a sob.

For a split-second, Roy faltered. Then his dark eyes hardened and he slammed the door shut behind him. “Sorry I’m late,” he said briskly. “Meetings. Do you need me to get anything, Alphonse?”

Alphonse stared at him, eyes wide. The retching in the bathroom transformed into gagging. Alphonse straightened. “Water and towels, please.”

Roy nodded and walked to the kitchen. The small dorm seemed to amplify the sound of Edward’s coughing and spitting. Overlaying the wet sounds was Alphonse’s soothing voice. _Physical trauma. Low blood pressure,_ Roy analyzed. _Fever. All easy contributors to severe nausea_. The water pouring into the glass seemed oddly quiet to Roy’s ears. _Should’ve known._

Closing his eyes for a moment, Roy took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, all he could hear was Al’s voice, soft and tender, down the hall.

_Common response to trauma._

Grabbing some towels on the way, Roy walked back to the bathroom. Now he could hear Ed again, gasping. He stopped outside the bathroom and held out the water glass and towels. “Here, Alphonse.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Alphonse breathed, poking his head out long enough to smile at Roy before grabbing the glass and towels and disappearing into the bathroom again. Déjà vu swept through Roy as he leaned against the wall.

“Call me Roy, Alphonse,” he replied, closing his eyes.

A pause. “All right. Roy.”

Edward coughed roughly and the toilet flushed. Roy heard some dull thumps and then Alphonse appeared again, Edward’s remaining arm wrapped around his shoulder. Edward leaned heavily against his brother, limping awkwardly. The sick blond glared balefully at Roy.

“You’re late,” Edward snarled. Even bloodshot and glazed, there was something dark in Ed’s eyes that made Roy feel inexplicably guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Roy offered.

Edward bared his teeth at Roy, even as Al urged him back to the bedroom. “And don’t apologize!” he howled. Al pulled his now coughing brother into the bedroom. Roy followed silently.

By the time Alphonse laid his brother on the bed, Edward was shivering violently. Fresh sweat broke out on Ed’s brow; golden hair, now darkened by sweat nearly to a brown, clung to his forehead and cheeks. Amber eyes slid shut as Edward leaned back against the pillow.

“Would you like more water, Brother?” Alphonse asked softly. “Or some ginger ale? Or tea?”

Still trembling, Edward shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped. “J-just let me talk with the bastard for a moment.”

Alphonse hesitated, again looking between Edward and Roy. With a nod, he squeezed Edward’s hand and pulled away. “All right, Brother. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Sighing, Edward nodded back. Alphonse kissed Edward’s forehead and started walking away. As he walked by Roy, he paused. “If you hurt my brother,” Alphonse murmured, “I’ll make you wish that the homunculi had killed you.” Alphonse flashed Roy a sharp smile reminiscent of his brother’s, and then Al left the room.

Roy swallowed thickly and turned back to Ed. Now more than ever, he could smell the hospital reek of the room, bleach and sweat and _sickness,_ and Ed’s shivering seemed to amplify that. The young man panted, exhausted by his exertions but still glaring determinedly at Roy.

“Get over here,” Edward growled.

Some part of Roy bristled at the command, but the Fuhrer looked at Edward’s sickly form and quieted himself. Instead, he walked to the bed and sat in his usual chair. Clad only in boxers, Edward’s too-thin body lay openly on the bed, and Roy surreptitiously studied him. Everything looked complete, aside from the actual attachment of the automail. Good. Hopefully things would be easier for Edward now.

“Stop that!” Edward rasped.

Roy blinked. “Hmm?” Was Ed offended by his staring?

Edward slammed his fist onto the bed. “Stop treating me like this! I’m not glass or any of that bullshit. You didn’t even treat me like this when I was eleven and catatonic!” Roy clenched his fists and stared evenly at Edward’s nose. Edward scowled darkly; Roy had an excellent view of Ed’s chapped, trembling lips. “You . . . you. . . ” Edward shook his head. “Just . . . stop.”

Roy shifted his gaze to study the hands on his lap. He remembered the end of the war, how things had worsened even as the homunculi’s numbers dwindled. Remembered Edward in the hospital, torn between exultation and heartsickness. Remembered how he tried to steal hours with Edward, Edward usually enraptured by his brother’s newly returned form, Roy busy steadying his faltering country. Most of all, Roy remembered stealing away from his office to visit Ed one night, only to see Prince Ling at the blond’s bedside.

“What would you have me do?” Roy inquired evenly, meeting Ed’s amber gaze. “Would you prefer that I yell at you?”

Edward panted, breath harsh and uneven. The usual rag and bowl of water lay on the bed table, but Roy resisted grabbing them. “Fuck you,” Ed gritted out. “Why the hell are you here if you’re not going to _be_ here?”

Roy stiffened. “Would you prefer that I leave?”

Edward didn’t reply, and after a long moment, Roy looked up to see the blond staring at him. “You,” Edward declared finally, “are a dumbass.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

With a snort, Edward shifted awkwardly onto his side, turning his back to Roy. “Leave,” Edward said, his voice still cold. “You don’t want to be here. Leave!”

Roy had remembered listening to Ling propose to Edward, offering him everything he had ever desired on a silver platter. Edward would have everything, as long as he didn’t mind sharing Ling. Edward and Ling had been near inseparable during the war, while Roy was always busy on the other side of the battlefield.

Roy listened to Ling’s proposal, saw the rare earnestness in the prince’s eyes, and walked away.

He, the new Fuhrer of Amestris, had walked away.

And now Ed was doing the same.

Edward squawked when Roy grabbed his good shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Roy kissed him hard, not wanting to hear his protests. The young man’s lips were too dry and too hot and felt rough against his own, but Roy didn’t care.

Edward was kissing him back.

When Roy pulled away, Edward was gasping but grinning. “You didn’t brush your teeth,” Roy noted, a little breathless himself.

Ed laughed weakly. “I didn’t open my mouth, either, Bastard.”

Roy smirked. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. “And then we’ll talk.”

“Thanks for the warning, Bastard.” But Ed’s eyes glittered gold over fever-flushed cheeks, and when Roy said good-night, Alphonse graced him with a smile.

For weeks, nothing had extended past holding hands. For weeks, no doubts had been assuaged, no questions had been answered, and he had grown no closer to Ed than he had been in the beginning. In the span of fifteen minutes, Edward had ripped all that apart, and, despite the fact that Roy couldn’t lick his lips without cringing, Roy couldn’t stop grinning.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ling is a bit of an asshole in this, but it's more based on cultural norms rather than him actually being an asshole.
> 
> There are some changes in this from the original version based on updated information and realizing I made an error in the original version. Otherwise, I tried to keep it as close to the original as I could. The point is to move certain fics to AO3, not do rewrites.

With a glass of tea warming in his hand, Fuhrer Roy Mustang leaned back on the cheap sofa. The condensation dampened his palm and fingers but gripping it helped distract him a bit from the creaking under him. The sofa was probably older than him—not that he was old—and it trembled whenever he shifted his weight.

Of course, it still seemed sturdier than Edward Elric.

Face tight, Edward hobbled across the small room to the table. On Winry’s orders, Edward wasn’t allowed to wear anything besides boxers, so Roy could see where flushed flesh met glinting automail. Edward called Winry a pervert for that rule; Winry hit him with a wrench. Alphonse assured Roy that the violence was a good sign.

Roy was tempted to pull out Edward’s chair, so he sipped his tea and stared at the ceiling. Tracing the yellowed cracks, he listened to Edward mutter obscenities. Roy had had too many directed at him to ask for more.

Besides, Edward hit Roy for pulling out his chair even _before_ the automail surgery.

He waited until Edward’s soft panting slowed before looking forward again. Edward sat with his legs sprawled under the table, his mismatched hands clasped on top of it. His long hair was braided—Roy guessed that Alphonse had done it but he figured it wasn’t worth his life to ask—and it dangled over the back of the chair. The blond glared at him, and Roy dutifully stood.

The blond had had his automail back for two months now. While Roy worked during the day, Winry kept Edward busy with his physical therapy. As Alphonse had explained to Roy, Edward’s body had to adjust to new stress caused by the adjusted ports and overstimulated nervous system. The young man had lost a lot of fat and muscle tone, and Winry had to carefully monitor Edward’s diet and physical activity. When neither Winry nor Alphonse was there, the responsibility fell to Roy.

Sipping his tea again, Roy sat beside Edward. Aware of Edward’s fierce glare, Roy quietly hid behind the transparent glass.

“You’re smirking,” Edward enunciated. “Stop.”

And if the first thing Roy had done on his shift was to get Edward a tall glass of milk, well, that was his own concern.

xoxoxox

“Boss’s therapy going well then?” Havoc greeted Roy as the dark-haired man walked into the office. Roy’s grin elicited several laughs and cheers. Roy’s mood had become the group’s gauge concerning Edward’s health, and one bored security guard had even begun taking notes on it. Without Edward regularly destroying property and attempting to kill the Fuhrer, the guard’s job had quickly become dull. As far as Roy knew, Edward and the guard were on a first name basis. Oddly enough, now so was Alphonse with the guard.

Havoc wheeled in front of Roy, stopping him on his way to the office. “So when can he come back?” he asked, and Roy paused, one frozen in front of the doorknob.

“Two more months of physical therapy and then Fullmetal can be released for some light work,” Roy answered, “provided the readjustment continues going well and he keeps up with his physical therapy.” His dark eyes glittered as he remembered that conversation. “Ms. Rockbell will be moving to Rush Valley. Alphonse will stay until Fullmetal fully adjusts, and then he will join Ms. Rockbell in Rush Valley.”

Havoc chuckled, the sound a little wet due to the fresh gum in his mouth, and Roy smiled slightly at him. What he hadn’t mentioned was that Edward had demanded immediate fieldwork. He had heard of some findings in chimerical alchemy in East City and wanted to be immediately sent out. Roy had simply rolled his eyes and asked him how he would be able to buy his train ticket without Alphonse there to buy it for him.

Roy learned two things: 1) Edward was now comfortable enough with his new inches to not be so sensitive about his height; 2) Edward’s control of his automail arm was increasing by leaps and bounds.

Alphonse confided that for this type of readjustment surgery, Winry typically demanded at least another five months, but no one thought she could go that long without killing his brother.

Havoc snapped his gum, his compensation for the lack of annoying smoke. “I bet Boss is just waiting for the nieces and nephews to spoil.”

Roy rolled his eyes, moving that last inch to grasp the doorknob. Obligingly, Havoc rolled backwards. “I listened to him for two hours last night talking about how _Alphonse’s_ kids will be so cute and smart and great and I think he forgot that Ms. Rockbell had to be part of the equation.”

Havoc’s laughter followed him as he walked into his office. One hand closing the door, Roy’s other hand fingered an object in his pocket. There had been more to that conversation, but Havoc didn’t need to know—

Roy’s fingers were raised and poised to snap before he recognized the intruder. “Your highness,” Roy said quickly, lowering his fingers and lightly inclining his head. “My apologies. I did not know you were scheduled to visit.”

Sitting behind _Roy’s_ desk, Emperor Yao Ling smiled merrily at the Fuhrer. “Greetings, Fuhrer Mustang. Here’s the letter about it.” Ling pointed to Roy’s “In” pile. “Our attendants should be arriving within the week.”

Roy’s answering smile was genial, his dark eyes sharp. So the other royals were still crossing the desert; the infamous Lan Fan could be anywhere then. If he breathed wrong around Ling, Fuhrer or no, Lan Fan would kill him. Hands relaxed at his sides, Roy sauntered to his desk, every inch the regal Fuhrer. “I see. Do you have accommodations already set up? As I am sure you are aware, there are suites set up for diplomats here in Central. I fear they are not appropriate for an emperor, though.”

“We am sure they will be adequate,” Ling responded politely, leaning back in the chair. He ran his fingers along the arms of Roy’s chair. “And how is Edward doing? I _assume_ well in return?”

In that moment, all of Roy’s years of subterfuge vanished, not even catching the switch from the royal “we” to “I.” After months of hearing that question, usually worded exactly like that, his answer was automatic: “His physical therapy is going well; he should be back at work soon.”

Ling’s smile froze. His hands clenched the chair. “Physical therapy?”

Roy’s own smile strained his face. His cheeks began to ache. “Automail surgery. Again, he should be back to work soon.” He reached for the letter. “Now may I—”

Ling stood up. “Of course. We will leave you to your work.”

Roy didn’t wait for the door to slam. He waited for the window to click shut before he collapsed in his chair. It took him a long moment before he reached for the letter. It took him even longer before he could concentrate on the words. He was too busy contemplating six other words:

Edward was going to kill him.

xoxoxox

When Roy arrived at the dorm that evening, Alphonse was waiting for him at the door. The young alchemist’s customary smile was gone. “Brother’s resting,” Alphonse said shortly, playing with a lock of blond hair. Roy nodded, meeting those accusing eyes, and walked past him.

Roy guessed that Edward was still clad in boxers, but he couldn’t tell with the blanket pulled up to Edward’s chin. Winry sat beside him, mouth tight and eyes firmly fastened on her clenched fists. Edward stared evenly at the wall, not looking at Roy when the man sat on the bed.

“You’re scheduled to work in approximately seven weeks,” Roy commented after a moment. Winry sharply glanced up at him at his cool tone; Edward didn’t flinch. “After which, you—”

“He is expecting his first child,” Edward interrupted, staring at the wall, “and the asshole _still_ invited me to come back to Xing with him.” He laughed bitterly. “His first _child_ and it doesn’t _matter._ ”

A celebrated alchemist, a legendary warrior, a brilliant scholar, and an abandoned son. Roy held himself steady as Winry glanced between the pair. She stared worriedly at Edward, but when he still didn’t look back, she stood and walked towards the door. Roy could _feel_ her glare— _they were both blaming him; did they believe he could have prevented this?_ —and then the door clicked shut behind her.

Now alone with the blond, Roy quietly reached out and clasped Edward’s left hand. Edward tightly gripped Roy’s hand, hurting his fingers.

“He was talking about his concubines,” Edward continued. “First pregnancy, with forty-nine more to go. None of them are children to Ling! They’re only heirs!” Another harsh laugh. “But he promised me that I would be special. Just one word from me . . .”

There were multiple, practical answers to this. Roy could point out the trials of running an empire, its similarities to Amestris’s own system, how those children would be children for only so long. He also knew that as practical as Edward could be, he would never be able to accept any of those answers. He squeezed Edward’s hand back. “What else did Ling say?” he asked instead.

When Edward waved his automail hand, the motion wasn’t as smooth as before, but the carelessness of it soothed Roy. “Same thing he said to me before. Lazy bastard almost used the same exact words.” He quieted, and for the first time, Edward turned to face Roy. “You’re not still jealous, are you?” he demanded. “Because if you are—”

Roy had discovered early on in their relationship that kissing was a good way to interrupt Edward, as long as he didn’t mind teeth.

At the moment, he didn’t mind.

They talked for a little while longer before Roy left Edward to rest. To Roy’s relief, Ling was not mentioned again, but he imagined he could still smell the Emperor’s distinctly Xingian scent in the room: musk and apples. Edward let Roy go after pulling him for one last kiss; the blond cut the inside of Roy’s lip with one of his fangs. The dark glitter in Edward’s eyes gave him away as Roy walked away.

Alphonse was sitting at the table as Roy walked towards the door. Edward’s smile darkened his lips. Roy’s fingers itched for his familiar gloves. “Why don’t you sit down, Fuhrer?” Alphonse invited. “I’m sure you have a couple minutes before you have to go home.”

_Actually I don’t. I have to get up early in the morning. I’m due for a shower. I really need to brush my teeth. I have a bottle of scotch calling my name._

Roy returned Alphonse’s smile. “Of course.”

Sharp bronze eyes tracked Roy’s movements as the brunet sat across from him. He waited until Roy made himself comfortable before humming thoughtfully and crossing his arms across his chest. His eyes never left Roy’s face. “I think you would be good for Brother,” Alphonse began quietly, and Roy clenched his jaw. “I’ve thought that for a while. And I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t attempt a fling with someone you’ve known for so long.” Alphonse hesitated. “Before Ling became Greed, he and Brother were lovers. After the Promised Day and it became clear where Ling stood, Brother tried to move on. You and Brother . . .” He glanced cautiously behind Roy in the direction of the bedroom. “Brother thought there was _something_ there, and then you distanced yourself like there was never any history between you.” Alphonse’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to abandon him again?”

“No.” The word slipped out before Roy could stop it. Like his response earlier, this, too, was automatic. Even as Alphonse relaxed in his chair, Roy swallowed. His hand snuck into his pocket before he could stop it.

Alphonse gestured towards the door, effectively freeing Roy for the moment. Roy nodded cordially at him and stood. The blond waited until Roy was stepping out the door to speak again.

“If you turn coward again . . . if you break my brother’s heart again . . . I will personally convince Brother that _neither_ of you were _ever_ an option for him.”

The door slamming shut cut off any potential reply.

xoxoxox

The house seemed quieter than ever when Roy unlocked the door and stepped inside. It had belonged to the former Fuhrer, and if it had been too large for a couple with a child, it seemed infinitely too large for Roy himself. Roy had even dismissed the Fuhrer’s guards, as they had been more for Salem—for appearances—anyway.

As he walked, Roy studied the expansive walls, the empty spaces, the graceful architecture of the house. The blood stains had long been removed; anything burned had been replaced. What remained was a beautiful, elegant house and his pathetic self.

Hands behind his back, Roy walked through the foyer to the study. Beside his desk, there was a liquor cabinet. Pulling out a bottle of scotch, he plopped in his chair. The top flew across the room, and Roy tossed his head back.

_One drink._

In a way, he had been Edward’s second choice.

_Two._

Of course, Edward had not realized Roy could be a _first_ choice.

_A waste…a waste of fine liquor._

Then again, _Roy_ had not realized he could be a first choice.

Another drink.

Until Ling, Roy didn’t realize Edward could be a sexual creature.

_And another._

Then he had, and he had seen fierce, intelligent, devoted, vibrant Edward in a physical light, in a _touchable_ light, and that image had haunted his every step.

_Such a waste…_

And then he had realized how little a Fuhrer could offer in comparison to an Emperor.

Roy threw the bottle, and then it was a waste of fine liquor all over his wall.

xoxoxox

The next morning, Havoc was waiting in Roy’s office. Roy noted the tar-like coffee and the near-incessant cracking of the blond’s gum. Tensing, Roy nonetheless kept his face smooth as he walked around the man’s wheelchair to his own chair.

“Can I help you?” he inquired, mindful of his pounding skull. It hadn’t been the alcohol that had affected him: it was the lack of sleep. Too many what-ifs too late at night.

“I saw Emperor Ling this morning,” Havoc commented, eyes hard. “He was collapsed on the sofa on the second floor, complaining about how dry Amestris was. Three secretaries were fighting to get him a drink. How long has he been here?”

Roy sighed and glanced doubtfully at his coffee. It looked like it could devour his spoon if he tried to stir creamer in it. “Officially, he’ll arrive with his attendants at the end of the week. Unofficially, at least one day.”

Havoc frowned, snapping his gum. “Does Chief know?”

Leaning back in his chair, Roy examined the pencil holes in the ceiling. “He visited Edward yesterday.”

Havoc cursed under his breath and looked away. When he turned back to Roy, his eyes were sharp on his superior’s face. “Did Ling renew his offer?”

“Immediately.” Roy could easily imagine Ling sitting earnestly at Edward’s bedside, Edward self-consciously concealing his scarred, broken body, a body of which he was not ashamed until it failed him.

“And?” Havoc prodded. For a moment, Roy wondered if that same comparison had crossed the man’s mind: a Fuhrer vs. an Emperor. Then he saw the concerned light in Havoc’s eyes.

“The same,” Roy admitted. Something within him loosened as Havoc relaxed. “Ling still seems determined, though.”

Havoc hummed and cracked his gum. Roy internally blanched as the blond flashed him a fierce grin. “If you let him get away, you’re the biggest fool I know. Sir.”

Roy stared imperially at him and reached for his coffee. A second later, Havoc sighed and reached for the wastebasket.

xoxoxox

When Roy arrived at the dorm, Alphonse let him in again, a familiar smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. It only took him a moment to see Edward sitting at the table, automail hand deliberate on a glass of water. Emperor Ling sat across from him.

Roy clenched his jaw.

“Oh, Fuhrer!” Ling greeted, looking away from Edward’s face. Edward started and twisted in his chair. His automail leg spasmed for a moment before mimicking the behavior of the other leg. “I was told you would be here.” As Alphonse continued holding the doorknob, Ling gestured towards the chair closest to Roy. “Would you like to sit down?”

Before Roy could answer, Edward rolled his eyes and slumped back in the chair. “Stop acting like you own the place,” he snapped. “Al, let go of the door already. Roy, sit the fuck down!” Fierce golden eyes shifted between the two men, sizing them up. A part of Roy wondered if he found them worthy.

 _Edward Elric, the man who feared neither Fuhrer nor Emperor_ , Roy thought dryly, pulling up a chair. He could feel Alphonse’s eyes on them.

“I’m going to meet Winry at Mrs. Hughes’s,” Alphonse chirped up. Edward’s disgruntled look vanished, replaced by a shocked horror. The slender blond shot up in his chair. “I’ll see you later, Brother, Ling, Fuhrer.”

“Al—” Edward began, eyes wide. He started reaching out with his flesh hand.

Roy didn’t bother looking back as the door slammed. Taking in Edward’s wide golden eyes, he wanted to leave, too. He was tempted to excuse himself, regardless. Would that be surrender? Or sensitivity? Edward did not want to be alone with them—that much was plain. It would be far too easy for him to get caught in the middle of their feuding, and all three of them knew it.

Roy met Ling’s hard eyes above the Emperor’s bright smile. Then he met Edward’s overwhelmed gaze. Edward, brilliant Edward who remembered to restore Alphonse and not himself, who turned away Ling for his morals and accepted Roy despite his lack of faith, who would scorn an emperor and still be hurt when the emperor viewed his offspring as heirs rather than children.

It was an easier decision than he thought.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said smoothly, standing again. He ignored Ling’s triumphant expression, instead meeting Edward’s betrayed eyes. Holding Edward’s gaze, Roy deliberately fished through his pockets. “I think we need to talk later, though.”

Quietly, Roy slid his spare keys across the table.

Edward stared incredulously at the keys. Roy would swear later that Ling was holding his breath. “You,” Edward pronounced finally, “are an idiot.”

Ling exhaled even as Roy deflated. He hadn’t realized how much he had been weighing on this. “I—”

“The fuckin’ Fuhrer, the legendary womanizer,” Edward continued, snatching the keys off the table and waving them in the air, “and this clichéd shit is the best you can come up with? Yeesh!” Ling looked away as Edward pocketed the keys. “Dumbass!”

Ling stared at the table. Roy tried to find some remnant of pity within him.

He couldn’t.

Roy left them alone then, but it was all right. Clutching his usual keys in his pocket, he knew Edward would be with him soon enough.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this last chapter, hopefully everything is wrapped up and the rating unexpectedly went up from teen to explicit. I did one last cleaning of details in the other chapters which I missed before, and I am now completely done with this fic.

“So how are things in the East, Colonel Hawkeye?”

“Efficient. Moreso than the Fuhrer’s office.”

“…”

“Sir, I feel –”

“Riza. I know. But…”

Roy rubbed his eyes and smiled faintly, phone pressed against his ear. Hearing Riza’s voice was always like drinking strong coffee: invigorating to the point of anxiety. Losing her was like losing an arm, but he knew of no one else he could trust in the East, especially with the ongoing project of rebuilding Ishval.

“I know, Sir.” Hawkeye quieted. Her office was quiet, no background noise like his. She ruled it with an iron fist, her people as disciplined and loyal as General Armstrong’s in the north.

Possibly more protective, but that was less due to Hawkeye and more due to her and Miles’s unborn child. Happiness and horror both tore at Roy at the thought of the baby.

Paperwork slammed on Roy’s desk. Still not opening his eyes, Roy cringed. “It is getting more efficient,” he offered.

He heard the smile in Hawkeye’s voice. “Tell Edward hello for me.”

…damn, but he missed her.

“I will, Colonel.”

“I will be up on the 4th for the scheduled review. By then, I expect Edward will be back in the field.”

Roy felt those intense golden eyes burning into him. Roy coughed. “Hopefully. I will see you on the 4th, Colonel.”

“Sir.”

When Roy hung up, Edward Elric stood by the corner of his desk, arms crossed and face dark. A chill crept up Roy’s spine, even as his pants tightened a little. “These were supposed to be signed yesterday.”

It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to point out how distracting Ed looked right then. He practiced his fledgling flame alchemy skills on his uniform when Roy tried to get him to wear it, and Roy swore Alphonse didn’t put any actual effort into stopping him. Still, Roy couldn’t complain about Ed’s tight leather pants – “You try getting dragged across rocks by a chimera _without_ wearing leather pants, Bastard” – or how his black top set off his bright golden hair.

Ed still limped a little and Alphonse dropped by twice a day to make sure Ed rested, but the young man grew stronger every day. The brothers invited Roy to watch their spars and even invited him to join sometimes.

Soon, Ed could be released back into the wild. While Roy would miss his regular presence and the gorgeous view, he wouldn’t miss _this_.

Ed tapped the pile with a metal finger. “All of this reviewed and signed by five,” he continued. His eyes narrowed. “I will check.”

Hawkeye could only shoot him. Ed could divert attention meant for _Roy_ toward probable destruction of property.

Roy bit back the urge to salute and just nodded. And Havoc told him that he had no survival instincts. “And what will you be doing?”

His scowl deepening, Ed glanced at the door. If Roy listened closed, he could hear Al talking with Havoc in the outer office. “I’m supposed to sit down and work on paperwork. My thigh was looking red yesterday.”

Roy automatically glanced down, nothing moving but his eyes, but based on Ed’s snarl, the younger man caught it. “It’s fine, Bastard. Al is just being paranoid.”

It was interesting, Roy thought, how Ed seemed the least affected by his surgery and subsequent recovery. Al had planned for the last three weeks to leave Central, but without fail, he found another reason to stay. He insisted that Ed had nothing to do with it and that while he was still here, he might as well keep an eye on Ed. As for Roy…

Ed still lived in the dorms but ended most nights in Roy’s bed. Where he slept. And only slept. Somewhere, Roy swore Maes was laughing his ass off at him. No one in the office knew of Roy’s sudden abstinence. Roy didn’t think they even suspected; otherwise, the atmosphere in the office would be completely different and far more mocking.

Ed glared at him now, a near perfect picture of health and virility, but Roy saw the faint shadows in his eyes, the tightness of his shoulders under his jacket.

“You might as well relax on the couch while I work on this stack. This is going to take a while.”

Golden eyes narrowed suspiciously. Instead of claiming his innocence, Roy reached for the top paper on the stack…which turned out to be a six-page report and stapled together. Typed in small font. He grimaced.

For some reason, that look seemed to satisfy the little sadist on the other side of the desk. Ed nodded to himself and stalked over to the couch. Now that Roy was looking for it, he saw the faintest hitch in Ed’s step. Roy focused on the report, narrating it out loud as he went.

Agriculture. In the south. Irrigation issues. His dreams of reform never included such mundane details, he mentioned aloud, voice as dull as the report.

Roy didn’t look back at Ed until he halved the stack. When he did, he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Despite his growth spurt, Ed still fit perfectly on Roy’s couch, stretched out and fast asleep.

Roy shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Ed before returning to his work. When Al arrived for his afternoon check, he even graced the Fuhrer with a grateful smile. Roy smiled back and enjoyed his perfectly made coffee.

xoxoxoxox

Edward led the way to Roy’s house. Roy watched, face impassive and breath frozen in his chest, as the young man fished his key out of a random pocket and unlocked the door. There was no fuss, the movement casual and natural, the knowledge like a soothing curl of fire alchemy in Roy’s heart.

As Ed swung open the door and Roy followed him into the house, he mentally reviewed what was stocked in the kitchen. Knowing Ed, not nearly enough. Take-out was necessary to soothe Ed’s vicious appetite, he decided. While Xing was a favorite before, since Emperor’s Ling visit, Roy had found himself not in the mood for his stand-by. He was in the middle of hanging up his jacket and thinking of a nice delivery place down the street when Ed ran a metal finger down Roy’s spine. Roy shuddered.

“So,” Ed inquired, “are you ever going to fuck me? Or is that sex god reputation completely a front for your spy organization?”

Roy settled his jacket more firmly on the rack before turning to Ed. Ed’s finger trailed over his ribs to his chest, a solid, hard point despite Ed’s delicacy.

“The flirt reputation is a front,” Roy said, reaching for Ed’s jacket. His easy yield of the jacket contrasted with the steadiness of his stare. “And it has nothing to do with our relationship or my desire for you.”

“So? What’s the problem?”

Despite his blunt words, Ed’s tone was patient. Roy hung up Ed’s jacket and then rested his hands on Ed’s shoulders. They were so much broader now, and Roy thought of the reports he read on growth and puberty and the average age for male puberty to end. Was Ed done? Was there more?

Nothing in Ed’s face echoed Roy’s anxiety.

“You’re still recovering,” Roy said. His thumbs rubbed Ed’s shoulders, one metal, the other solid flesh. New metal and old flesh.

Ed snorted. “I don’t know what the hell you get up to in bed, you ass, but it won’t be sparring. If I can handle Al outside, I can handle you inside.” Ed paused and then wrinkled his nose in an expression which could only be called – silently and never, ever out loud – cute. “Wait. That sounds fucking awful. What I meant –”

Roy leaned down and kissed Ed’s nose. Golden eyes crossed.

…yes. Cute.

“We have no rush,” Roy murmured. “We can take it slow.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed, and he looked so different but still far too similar to the mask asking for sick leave several months ago. “So you’re good abstaining until…what? Do I need Winry to write me a doctor’s note?”

Roy cringed. “No, please.”

His thumbs kept rubbing those shoulders, feeling their seeming sturdiness. Ed always seemed so sturdy until he didn’t. Unstoppable until something brought him low.

But he always bounced back. Until then, Roy could wait.

Roy leaned over and brushed his lips against Ed’s. He expected Ed to push, to deepen the kiss, to introduce teeth and tongue – particularly teeth – but Ed kept the kiss sweet and slow. Ed licked Roy’s lips once, tasting, but went no deeper. When Roy pulled away, Ed’s eyes were dark and contemplative. A familiar chill crept up Roy’s spine: part excitement and part dread.

“I’m going to go upstairs and oil my automail,” was all Ed said. “Come up when you’re ready.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “And what about dinner?”

Ed smiled. Roy saw a flash of fang. “Takeout. Your treat. Later.”

That smile brought to mind exploding buildings. Roy nodded and watched Ed stalk away, shedding pieces of clothing as he went. Roy would have been more annoyed if it wasn’t for the fantastic view of Ed’s tight ass, encased in leather and swaying with each step.

When the time came, Roy swore, he was going to _devour_ that ass.

Roy took off his shoes, placed them where they _belonged_ , and lasted all of ten seconds before giving up and putting away Edward’s boots. Then he ended up following Ed’s trail of clothes, grumbling and picking them up. If this is what Al did every day, no wonder he hadn’t protested Ed staying so often with Roy. Now Ed was Roy’s…problem…

Reaching his open bedroom door, Roy dropped Ed’s clothes on the floor again.

Oh. That was why he hadn’t fought Roy harder.

Oil glistened, but not the dark oil for Edward’s automail. This was clear and thick, splattered in wet droplets down Ed’s muscled torso to gleam on Ed’s hard cock. The oil shone over Ed’s flesh hand as he leisurely stroked his cock, a heavy drag down to the base, then a tight pull back up. Precum dripped over the thick red cockhead. Wet slide down, a clench of strong fingers, pulling back up, a splash of precum over his already wet hand.

“Oh,” Roy said faintly.

Ed smirked. Roy had dreamed of him naked and sprawled on his bed, sometimes featuring rose petals, sometimes nothing but black sheets, but reality trumped: a tumble of loose golden hair, tanned, scarred flesh, and of course that smirk, curving pink lips and burning in golden eyes.

“If you’re scared of hurting me,” Edward drawled, “you can always watch.”

Roy’s clothes joined Ed’s on the floor.

xoxoxox

Edward joked once, smiling with watchful eyes, that he was more scar than flesh. It was an exaggeration, but not much of one. Roy followed Ed’s progress as much as he could over the years, but there were months when he went AWOL and details lost and scars gained that he couldn’t identify…with none of that even considering the automail scarring.

Still, Roy liked exploring the different textures with his fingers and mouth, liked learning what made Ed hiss and gasp and groan. Ed swore, filthy and hoarse, in three languages when Roy scraped his teeth above Ed’s left high, right on the edge of the jagged scars. There were no signs of soreness, or sick redness, or vulnerability of weakness or any of the pain Ed had been struggling with for months as his body adjusted to the new ports.

Only heat and passion and Ed’s flesh hand clawing his back while his automail hand shredded Roy’s sheets.

“Roy, you _motherfucker_ , just _get on with it_.”

Roy nipped the bit of thigh closest to his mouth and felt Ed’s whole body shudder. “Patience, love,” he murmured.

Yes, scars decorated so much of Ed, but underneath those scars were hard, strong muscles and a fierce heart which pounded a thrumming pulse throughout his body. Roy could feel the heat of it under his mouth as he kissed his way up Ed’s thigh.

Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, alive and well and _his_ , not quite whole but neither was Roy. Their broken parts could be pushed together. They were geniuses, after all. They could figure it out.

“Do you need a fucking _map_ you – oh, _fuck_.”

Roy balanced Ed’s thighs on his shoulders, mouth busy and wet and hungry. First things first, though. Nuzzling heavy balls and those rumors about Fullmetal were so, so right. Tasting salt and breathing musk and pushing Ed’s thighs higher on his shoulders to reach just that bit farther.

So many scars but none on the perfect curve of Ed’s tight ass. He licked up once but the angle too awkward, Ed’s automail hard and heavy on his back. Roy drew back, dragging his mouth over skin as he went. “On your knees,” he rasped.

For once in his life, Ed didn’t argue with an order.

Curses flowed like water from Ed’s mouth as Roy knelt behind him, taking a moment to admire that perfect ass. The leather pants were just a teasing hint. High, tight, and smooth, and Roy had been wrong: there was a thin slice cutting through Ed’s right cheek. Roy leaned over and dragged his tongue over it, the sudden cut off of curses and the abrupt ragged gasp like music. Where did he get that scar? Roy wondered, rubbed his thumb over it, feeling the harsh line over otherwise smooth skin. How –

“I will fucking _do it_ myself you _fucking_ bastard. I will fucking _fuck myself_ on my automail fingers while you have to just _sit_ and _watch_ because that is all you’re fucking _good_ at –”

That mental image made Roy swallow. Later. They could definitely do that later. For now, Roy leaned down and spread those perfect, perfect cheeks. He nipped one and Ed’s rant choked off in a groan. The skin yielded beautifully to Roy’s teeth, and he couldn’t help but nip again.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Edward groaned. “You fucking _fucker_.”

Ed pushed back, almost knocking Roy off balance. Grinning to himself since Ed couldn’t see him, Roy nipped his other cheek and then settled comfortably in the middle. Time for that promise to himself.

xoxoxox

Afterwards, Roy couldn’t help but finger Ed’s automail port on his shoulder as Ed dozed on his chest. The scarring was harsher there, bigger, than around the port on his thigh. Ed gave no indication that it bothered him, though. Roy leaned over and lightly kissed it. His fingers brushed Ed’s automail leg.

Agonizing but allowing Ed to walk forward. Equivalent Exchange.

“Winry moved out to Rush Valley, and she took Al’s cats from Resembool to Rush Valley with her,” Ed mumbled. Roy glanced at him. The young man’s eyes were still shut. “I think she is holding them hostage.”

Roy smiled and rested his hand against Ed’s scarred thigh. His skin looked pale against Ed’s, but thanks to Lust and Wrath, he had his own scars to complement Ed’s. “Oh? Is he finally going to move in with her then?”

Ed yawned. It was still amazing how someone so small could have such a big mouth. “A new home base. I think he’s going to travel to Xing, learn alkahestry.”

Ah, yes. Ed’s quest was done: Al’s body was restored. Was it time for Al’s quest then?

But onto more important matters. “That dorm will be rather large and empty then,” Roy commented.

Roy felt Ed smile. “Well, it’s a good thing I have a key to another place, eh, Bastard?”


End file.
